The Calling

by Ashley Lynn Willis

  Of course she would have been interested. She might even have picked him over Ty if he’d asked her out first. If she told him that, it would only make him more adamant, but she wasn’t going to lie.

  She took a deep breath before answering. “Yes”

  His expression brightened. “Then, I’ll wait until you’re ready to date again.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I haven’t met anyone who makes me feel the way you do.”

  A small part of her defenses wavered. She leaned away, terrified she’d break down and kiss him. “I never knew.”

  He dropped his hand from her cheek, but he didn’t let go of her hands. “How was I supposed to tell you when you were engaged to my best friend?”

  She thought back to all the time Justin had spent with her, searching for shells while Ty surfed or fished. When Ty was assigned to a cutter on her twenty-sixth birthday, Justin had picked out a book on proper formatting for poems and signed Ty’s name to the gift card. She’d never told Ty she wrote poetry, only Justin. Such a thoughtful present should have been her first clue. How had she been so blind to everything going on around her?

  Justin squeezed her hands. “I want to spend time together and have fun like we did today. I promise I won’t pester you about a date if you’ll just give me that.”

  “What if I’m never ready to date again? I’ll feel like I’m leading you on.”

  “I’m willing to take the risk.” He let go of her hands and grabbed her pillow. With a quick movement, he punched it, making it nice and fluffy, then he smoothed out the part of her sleeping bag below the pillow. “Sleep on it. If you want to tell me to get lost in the morning, I’ll pout a little, but I promise not to hound you anymore, as long as we’re still friends.”

  She nestled into the pillow and yawned so hard her jaw cracked. On any other night, she would have stayed up for hours, thinking about his proposition, but the sun, sand, and ocean had sucked dry her last scrap of energy. Besides, his confession was too much to process in one night. “Sleeping on it sounds like a great plan,” she said in a groggy voice.

  “I’m wide awake now,” Justin grumbled.

  “You started it.”

  “I know. Mind if I leave you to take a walk?”

  Her eyes began to sag closed. “If you promise not to go very far.”

  “Promise.”

  She heard Justin unzip the tent door and zip it shut behind him as she drifted off to sleep. Maybe in her dreams, she’d sort out her feelings.

  * * *

  Justin wandered the beach, careful not to let the tent out of his sight. The half-moon glistened on the surface of the ocean, creating a line of shimmering light leading toward the sand.

  He sighed and ran his hands through his freshly showered hair. Mandy finally knew how he felt. He’d thought it’d be a huge burden off his chest, but now he wished he’d kept his lips shut tight. She wasn’t ready for more than friendship and, if he pushed her too hard, she’d run.

  He kicked some loose sand with his flip-flop. Like dust, it sprayed toward the water. Why was he so impatient? Three years on the sidelines, that was why.

  For an hour, he wandered the beach and, in the moonlight, he watched crabs scurry across the sand to their dens. He stopped when he saw a little fiddler defending his home from a larger crab. They battled like mini-fencers, using their claws as swords.

  He felt sorry for the small guy. No way could he scare off a bully twice his size. But the little crab parried, then lashed out, clamping down on the aggressor’s claw. A small snap pierced the night as the underdog claimed victory.

  Justin chuckled as the larger crab scurried away. Seemed the little guy had some fight in him after all. He needed to take a lesson from the crab… never give up.

  So what if Mandy knew he wanted her? He’d had an itch to tell her since her breakup. Maybe his timing wasn’t perfect, but at least he was in the running. All he had to do was break through her fear of relationships and convince her that he wouldn’t leave should the cancer strike again. Suddenly, he was the underdog battling the larger crab, and the attacking beast was brandishing a claw the size of a tanker truck.

  He sighed, realizing he’d need a damn miracle after what Ty had done to her. Stupid bastard.

  * * *

  Mandy cracked an eyelid and sat up in the dark tent. She moaned quietly, annoyed that something had woken her. In her dream, she’d been topless on a beach, playing in the surf. Her left breast had been flawless without the jagged scar slashing the skin in half. Whatever had interrupted her short time with a perfect body had better get lost fast.

  “Cecelia,” Justin murmured.

  She shook off the remnants of sleep and perked her ears, trying to make sense of his words.

  Through the dark, she saw his hand rise then fall to his side. “No…” His sleeping bag rose and fell with gasping breaths. “No!”

  Mandy drew her eyebrows together. Was he having a nightmare? She slid out of her bag and crawled the short space between them. “Justin,” she whispered, scared she’d jolt him awake if she spoke too loud.

  His head turned toward her, but his eyes stayed clamped shut. The lines on his forehead grew deeper and deeper. She wanted to reach out and smooth them.

  “Justin,” she said, a little louder. “You’re having a bad dream.”

  He trembled violently and shot up to a sitting position. “Cecelia!”

  Mandy flinched at the intensity and pain in his voice. She reached out and touched Justin’s arm, wanting to comfort him. “You’re having a bad dream. That’s all.”

  Justin blinked a few times, and his gaze fixed on her face. “Mandy?” He reached out and wrapped her in his warm arms. Before she could think to stop him, he’d pulled her into the unzipped sleeping bag and held her so tight she couldn’t move. Her head rested against his hard chest, and she listened to his heart jackhammer beneath his ribs. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” His voice broke. “I’m fine.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “No.”

  A stab of jealousy pierced her heart. Oh, God. Was she jealous because he’d called out another woman’s name? She squeezed her eyes shut. No, no, no, she chastised herself. The jealousy didn’t abate. She sighed in defeat. Not only was she jealous, but she didn’t want to move from his arms. His hold on her never eased, so at least she had an excuse to stay put.

  She relaxed into him and was thankful when his heart beat a normal rhythm again. Between the warmth of his body nestled against hers and the steady pounding of his heart, she fell asleep in a matter of minutes.

  In the morning, Mandy awoke and peered through little slits. Too hot. Why was she sweating? She glanced up, forcing her eyes open wider. Justin’s slack face rested peacefully on his pillow only a few inches away. The foggy memory of his bad dream came back, and she recalled when he’d pulled her under the covers.

  A smile crossed her face. He looked so perfect with his long lashes touching the tops of his cheeks. When her gaze rested on his lips, she imagined what they would feel like beneath hers. Was she being stupid letting her past get in the way of her future? Maybe the cancer was gone for good. And if it was, didn’t she deserve a happy ending?

  As she stared at Justin, she began to think he was worth the gamble. Her gaze rested on his mouth again, and his lips became more and more tantalizing as she studied them. How would he react if she woke him with a kiss? Would he wrap her in his arms and kiss her softly? Or would he be rough and demanding? She wanted to find out.

  Mandy slowly lowered her face to his. The closer she leaned into him, the faster her blood rushed. Did she have the courage? She paused, fear convoluting her thoughts. Justin’s sweet breath brushed her lips, sending a tingle down her spine. Oh, yes, she had the courage.

  She lowered the last inch between them, almost touching his mouth. Then, the ring of her phone pierced the silence. She stifled a groan. Dang phone! She pulled herself from Justin’s arms and fumb
led through her beach bag until she found her cell. Justin slept, oblivious to the goings-on around him, his chest rising and falling rhythmically with deep slumber.

  “Hello,” she whispered, while she unzipped the tent door and crawled out into the bright morning.

  “Is this Miss Hardy?”

  She squinted toward the ocean. “Yes.”

  “Hello, this is Debra with Dr. Orson’s office.”

  She clutched the phone so hard her knuckles ached. “You have the results?”

  “Dr. Orson wants you to come in for another mammogram.”

  “Why?” She couldn’t stop her voice from shaking.

  “The radiologist would like to view a suspicious area from a different angle.”

  The blue sky turned gray and the water black. “When?”

  “The imaging center has an opening Tuesday morning. They’re holding the appointment for you.”

  She wanted to ask Debra just how suspicious the mammogram looked, but Debra wouldn’t know anything, and the radiologist wouldn’t speculate until after another screening. She’d been through the procedure enough to know how it worked.

  Mandy sucked in a deep breath to keep her tears from overflowing. “Do I need to call the center to confirm the appointment?”

  “No. It’s for nine A.M.”

  “Thanks.”

  After she hung up, she hugged herself tightly and rocked on her heels. A cool breeze ruffled her hair. Yesterday, she’d enjoyed the wind, but now it was just a blast of sand and salt that pummeled her into an even worse mood.

  She hung her head. If the cancer was back, she’d have to endure another year of hell—if she was lucky. If the prognosis was dire, she’d have to pick out a burial plot.

  Mandy looked back at the unzipped door. She couldn’t possibly face Justin with her emotions so volatile. No matter how bad she wanted him, he didn’t need to deal with her mess. Quietly, she slipped into the tent, gathered her belongings, and left while he still slept.

  Chapter 5

  Justin walked down the glaring white hallway of his mother’s psychiatric hospital; his brain went comatose at the thought of spending the day in this hellhole. Even dogs deserved a better place to live than this. He passed door after door of rooms filled with patients unable to care for themselves. They were either delusional or suicidal, and sometimes both.

  As the acrid odor of bleach stung his nostrils and eyes, and the cries of the afflicted echoed off the sterile walls, he wondered if his mom would be better off dead. At least she wouldn’t be suffering, and he wouldn’t be reminded of how she’d abandoned him.

  He shook his head. Jesus, what a sick way to think. What kind of son wanted his mother dead? He glanced at the petite nurse escorting him and wondered what she’d think of his vile thoughts. She’d probably kick him out on his ass, like he deserved.

  Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the middle-aged man sitting outside his room until the patient grabbed his arm. “Have you seen my wife?” the gaunt man asked.

  Justin stared into the man’s drooping brown eyes. Even though his gaze was dull and filled with misery, there was an innocence to his question that couldn’t be ignored, as if the man refused to believe someone he loved could have dumped him in this pit. Was that how his mom felt?

  “My wife? Have you seen her?” the patient asked again.

  “No, sir. I haven’t.”

  The nurse took the man’s hand and placed it on the armrest of his chair. “Mr. Doherty, Sandra will be here to visit next week. We talked about that this morning.” The nurse smiled. “Do you remember?”

  Flecks of drool gathered at the corners of the man’s mouth. “She… she said she was coming today.”

  The nurse patted the man’s hand as if comforting a child. “I’ll come back as soon as I take this gentleman to his mother’s room. We’ll look at the calendar again.”

  As they resumed their journey, a pit of sorrow opened in his stomach. “How do you do this every day? I think I’d die of grief after a few weeks of watching these people suffer.”

  She turned her eyes on him, her gaze filled with a mixture of compassion and sorrow. “My brother used to be a patient here, before he died two years ago.”

  Justin nodded with a new respect for this slight woman. He realized everyone had their burdens, not just him.

  “Dr. Miller left this for you.” She handed him a half-inch thick manila envelope.

  He took it from her, surprised by the heft of it in his hands. “What’s in it?”

  “Details on electroshock therapy.”

  Justin stopped mid-step. “You’re kidding me.”

  The nursed turned to face him, her face sober and devoid of the joking he longed for. “It’s a last-resort treatment.”

  He could hardly speak over the lump in his throat. “And that’s where we are?”

  “I’m afraid so. Just read the literature before you say no. The treatment isn’t what it used to be. There’s no pain involved.”

  “You think it would help?”

  The woman nodded. “I’ve seen it cure patients when nothing else would work.” She sighed deeply. “I’ve also seen it kill a patient with heart problems.”

  His mom didn’t have any heart problems that he knew of, at least not of the physical kind. “I’ll read it.” He handed it back to her. “I don’t want Mom to see it. Can you hold it at the front desk for me?”

  “Sure.” The nurse stopped in front of Room 332, unlocked the door, and gestured for Justin to enter. “She’s been doing well this week. She even asked to see you.”

  “Dad, too?” Hope tinged his voice.

  The nurse’s eyes tensed. “No. Just you.”

  His shoulders slumped. Dad had loved her, probably still did, but his mother cared for no one except the daughter she’d lost.

  The nurse stepped aside, and he walked into the room, his gaze sweeping over the furnishings. It was as desolate as a jail cell with only a few soft decorations–a stuffed dolphin on a smooth metal table where she took her meals, and a colorful blanket covering her bed. The quilt’s patchwork of blues, greens, and reds looked out of place next to the bland walls and floors. Hell, anything cheerful looked out of place around this joint.

  On her bedside stand sat a stack of books, mostly mysteries, with a few thrillers thrown in. Once a month, he had a dozen books delivered to her from an online used bookstore. The novels were the only entertainment she had in this godforsaken place, and she devoured them even when she refused food. It gave him satisfaction that he could give her an escape, even if only for a few hours.

  His mother sat by the window in a rocking chair. Her jet-black hair was sprinkled with gray strands and hung loose around her shoulders. She turned to face him and, for the first time in years, her cheeks looked rounded, without the usual jagged bones jutting beneath her thin skin. Her glowing complexion filled him with optimism.

  “You’ve been eating?” he asked.

  “And drinking.” She held up her arm to show him the absence of an IV. Her brown eyes lit up, taking ten years off her age. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in and sit.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He shut the door and hurried inside, elated that his mother’s mood had lifted. Could something have changed? “You seem different, Mom.”

  She rubbed her thin fingers over her bare arms and sighed. “Your dad’s been visiting lately.”

  Nothing could subdue the smile that spread across his face. “Really?”

  She rested an ornery gaze on him. “I don’t plan to be around much longer. I thought if I looked nice, he’d miss me more.”

  He shook his head and closed his eyes. Not one damn thing had changed. “You’re under twenty-four-hour surveillance.” He glanced up at the video camera in the corner of her room. “If you haven’t found a way to die yet, it ain’t happenin’.” Frustrated, he pulled a metal chair across the floor with too much force.

  His mom cringed as it scraped the linoleum. When he settled
into the seat, she tapped her temple with a pale finger. “I’m getting craftier.”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  He gazed through the window, his mother’s only connection with the outside world. A parking lot in front of a strip mall filled most of the view, with cars coming and going like bees to a flower. Once they packed their trunks with new clothes, vitamins, or dry-cleaning, they drove home, or maybe to another flower down the street. His mom should be among their numbers. Instead, she sat above them, wilting.

  His gaze crossed the top of the buildings toward the horizon where he could just make out the glint of the morning sun on the bay. If only the hospital would let her out for a day trip, he’d take her to the beach. But he knew as well as they did she’d probably try to drown herself. Christ, nineteen years of therapy and she was still as hell-bent on killing herself as the day his sister had died.

  He slung his arm over the side of the chair and studied her. Her soft features weren’t as weathered as they should have been for someone who had taken him to the beach almost every day when he was a kid.

  “Why do you want to leave me?” he asked.

  “To see my Cecelia,” she said, as if it were the most obvious reason in the world.

  Her words wounded him as much as any knife. He might love her, but he’d never forgive her for choosing death over him. He took a deep breath, buying time to compose himself. “The nurse said you’ve been asking for me.”

  She nodded, still gazing out the window. “We never talk about her.”

  Of course, they didn’t talk about her. The last time he’d said Cecelia’s name, his mom had picked up her lunch tray and tried to bash it over his head. After that, the subject of his sister was off-limits, which was fine by him because hearing her name only reminded him of what an eternal fuck-up he was.

  As Justin studied his mother, her dim eyes turned into a vibrant molten chocolate, the way he remembered them as a child. “Cecelia’s death wasn’t your fault,” she said.